


this just isn't fun anymore

by marriottsmushrooms



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Break Up, Falling Out of Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriottsmushrooms/pseuds/marriottsmushrooms
Summary: As much as his mind races to find something to say just so George will turn around and they can carry on delaying the inevitable, he knows it's not worth it. George is right.





	this just isn't fun anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Eyo lads
> 
> Just a shoddy little drabble because I was bored and feeling angsty
> 
> 👏I👏Have👏Severe👏Writers👏Block👏Please👏Send👏Any👏Prompts👏Or👏Requests👏Literally👏Anything👏At👏All
> 
> Love you deeply 
> 
> -mush

Will doesn't know when things started to slip downhill. He's not even sure if it was a quick thing, or if it had been dragged out, slowly happening over time without either of them noticing, until now. Now, he's sat here, feeling slightly ill, listening to George fumbling in the room over and overthinking everything. Every word, every move, analysing everything until he comes to some form of satisfying conclusion that doesn't make him feel awful. He doesn't even want to think about what any of this means, but the more that he remembers, the more he thinks that maybe this isn't working. He shakes his head.

Couples argue, of course they do, and Will knows that, but this seemed different. They have spats, some funny and stupid, over silly things like video games and sides of the bed, and types of coffee, some more serious, about broken equipment and damages to the apartment and video ideas. This was the first time Will had been in a proper argument. They never shout, not at each other, even in the more serious arguments, it's always controlled, harsh tones perhaps, but things had come to a head that afternoon. Maybe it was stress, fatigue, just frustration, but Will had never seen George look at him like that, and Will had never heard himself say the things he said. Looking back, he feels dreadful.

He loves George, he knows he does, and George knows too, but Will cant help but feel like something is missing. He wonders if George feels that way now, or what he's doing in their room. He doesn't really want to think about it.

Will wonders if this was inevitable, if they should have expected it. Looking back now, he sees the times where either of them pushed something too far, where eyes were rolled and scowls were plastered on their faces until someone said something sweet and it all switched back to hugs and kisses. It makes Will feel a bit sick to know that maybe they should have expected this.

He runs his hands through his hair and huffs. He'll give George time, and then apologise, even if he feels he wasn't the one in the wrong, and hope that everything works out.

  
It doesn't.

George still seems bitter when the sun sets and the sky is dark and hours have passed since they last spoke. Or shouted, more like. The room is dark when Will enters it. He wonders why George felt the need to turn the lights off. Will sits on the bed silently, feeling it dip beneath him and crosses his legs, looking at George, who is curled up on his side, looking at his phone. Will cant see his face. He knows that this is exactly the same as their other spats, so why does he feel so sick when he imagines himself talking to George, the man that he loves dearly?

"'M sorry, George," Will starts. His hands hold each other in his lap, and his teeth bite anxiously at his lip. He resists the urge to hold his breath, both from anxiety and to hear what George says.

He doesn't say anything at all. Not that Will can hear, anyhow, and Will feels his heart drop, he knows George is awake just from the way he's breathing, and watching the silhouette of his thumb push against the glass of his phone screen.

"I shouldn't have said that shit. I didn't mean any of it."

George hums, and Will sighs. George is never normally like this, so Will decides not to pry. He clambers out of bed to turn the lights off around the apartment. When he enters the room again, nothing has changed. George is still lying there, and Will sits back down, pulling the duvet over his legs. It feels weird, getting into bed without George's legs intertwined with his. He sighs quietly and moves down, watching the back of George's head as his sinks into the pillow.

"Love you, George," Will murmurs. Will watches him put his phone away, and then all the light in the room gets locked away until they lie in complete darkness.

"Yeah," George sighs, shuffling, "love you too."

Will swallows. He cant help but feel that George's words are said with reluctance. He turns back over, feeling empty and alone.

  
It isn't long at all until their next argument. George sits on their sofa, arms crossed, huffing at everything that comes out of Will's mouth.

George doesn't want to listen to him right now. He doesn't want to be near him, as awful as it sounds. He knows he has things to do, videos to record and edit, for his channel and for others', and Will is just a hindrance currently. He feels bad for thinking it as soon as it pops into his mind.

"You're proper immature sometimes, George," Will sighs. "Gettin' kinda done with it, you know."

"Then don't talk to me," George shrugs. His hand comes up to rub at his forehead, trying to deplete the headache beginning to grow.

"Yeah, don't think I will."

George hears him go, hears him walk back to their room, hears the door slam, and sighs.

The streets of London are cold, despite it approaching summer, but then George knows it's England, what's new? He finds it somewhat appropriate, fitting for his current mood and state of mind. If it had been warm, it would have seemed too cheery, too happy, offer him more comfort than he feels he deserves.

His hands sink into the pockets of his coat. He looks up at the buildings around him, recognising small shops and entrances from late night Uber rides to clubs and bars that he drinks at until everything merges into one, and Will becomes just some guy he knows, blending into the background as if he isn't George's boyfriend. George feels bad when he's sober, wonders if Will saw his wondering hands, heard his sinful whispers. Then he knows Will probably does the same thing.

It hurts to think about. George relies on Will, as much as Will relies on him, but it seems like it just isn't working out. They're staying together because it would be difficult apart, things would change, and George doesn't like change. He knows Will doesn't either. They stay together for the fear of being apart, and what that means for them. George knows it isn't good, but it's better than giving up. Who knows, he thinks, maybe something will happen and they'll fall in love again? Maybe it will all be fixed if they leave it alone and ignore the fact that they're broken. What they have is broken.

George feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

_where are you, didn't hear you leave_

_Went out for a bit x_

_we need more milk_

George sighs. What's the point in trying?

  
They talk less and less and the weeks pass. They pretend they're fine, still sleep in the same bed, but under the duvet, their legs are no longer intertwined, George no longer rests his head against Will's chest. They still hold hands in front of their friends, but never in public, never sat together at home, they put up a front so that it isn't awkward around their friends, but in private, they know that their fingers are wrongly intertwined, they shouldn't be, they both don't want them to be. George can shamelessly admit that he doesn't remember the last time Will kissed him. The more he thinks about it, the less he feels like he needs to try. At this point, it's inevitable, they've fallen out of love, and there's no use in trying to fall back in. It wouldn't happen.

They only talk about it one evening, when George is sat in bed, knees drawn to his chest, duvet pooled around his feet. Will is stood at the foot of it, arms changing between being crossed and flailing wildly.

"'S like you don't even want this to work out!" Will snaps. "Not even fucking trying."

"Yes I am," George murmurs. "You know I am, I'm picking up your bits and pieces because you're breaking this relationship into tiny fucking fragments, and I'm the one who's dealing with that."

George doesn't mean to lash out until its too late. He feels awful, he hates arguing, hates their spats and fights, but he knows he has to stand up for something or he'll get walked all over.

It all seems to have happened too quickly and neither of them have the slightest clue why. They were fine a month ago, holding hands and exchanging loving glances, short kisses behind corners and in hallways, hugs that lasted for seemingly hours, sleeping in each other's arms. Then, like life so often does, it all changed. If you blinked then you'd miss the sudden change in atmosphere, the tense bodies and venomous spats. George supposes they just weren't meant to be, but Will is still trying to hold on.

"There's no point. We're trying to fix something that can't be fixed, Will. It's hurting both of us, and I can't fucking take this shit any more." George feels the pressure slip off his shoulders like water. It's relieving, and he knows he can breathe now.

Will doesn't say a word. He knows George is right, he's known this day would come, so he can't be surprised, however now that it's here, Will feels lost. He knows that there's no point in fighting anymore. As much as his mind races to find something to say just so George will turn around and they can carry on delaying the inevitable, he knows it's not worth it. George is right. It's painful enough already, and the longer it continues for, the bigger the scar will be.

"What now?" He asks, feeling small and lost. He doesn't know what to do, where to go, if he should stay, if he should leave, what he should say. He feels like he's been abandoned, like George was the carpet beneath his feet, and it's been pulled out, leaving Will hurt and vulnerable.

"I don't know," George admits. "I've never fallen out of love before."

"No," Will sighs. "Me neither."

**Author's Note:**

> Send requests innit


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